


The Way You Look Tonight

by subcutaneous7



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12190695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subcutaneous7/pseuds/subcutaneous7
Summary: Frankie returns from Santa Fe when she and Grace receive a special honor for their business. Inspired greatly by Jane Fonda's dress at the 2017 Emmy Awards. You know the one.





	The Way You Look Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a little while since I've posted anything, but this damn thing wanted to come to life, and I hope I've done it justice. I had the idea for most of this fic before the 2017 Emmy Awards, and then Jane Fonda wore that dress, and at first I didn't know how I felt about it, and then it inspired me more than I ever expected. So here goes. I took some liberties with the construction of the dress (necklace is now attached to the gown itself) and how clearly expensive the real thing would have been, so this is my interpretation of it. I hope you enjoy! If you do, please consider leaving a comment. Your love and feedback mean more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you (:

“I really wish you’d let me take you to Patty’s,” Frankie guilt-tripped for the third time that morning, shuffling after Grace as they approached Lord & Taylor.

“Why, because you’re afraid of the revolving door here?”

“I’m not afraid,” Frankie insisted, hiking her purse up on her shoulder, stopping in her tracks to stretch her calves. “I just prefer establishments that don’t force me to vault myself through a human-sized blender before I can get my shop on.”

“Well, come on then.”

“I mean...okay. You go first.”

“Fine,” Grace sighed, quickly pushing past the spinning entrance. When she reached the other side, she turned back only to find Frankie still waiting, pressing her hand to her sternum as she watched the golden slats between the panes of glass go round and round, counting to herself “One, two, three, one, two, three,” like she was memorizing some sort of life-or-death dance routine. Grace felt her patience running thin, the usual _let's go, Frankie_ bubbling up inside, but she held it back this time, determined not to do that so much anymore. She pushed it down instead, crossing her arms, trying not to tap her foot as she waited.

“One, two, thr...good fucking Christ...okay, and I’m through,” Frankie exhaled loudly, wiping her brow as she stuck the landing, shaking out the adrenaline. “Alright. Show me where the fancy ladies buy their fancy lady clothes. I’m all yours.”

Grace bit the inside of her lip, blinking a few times before leading them past the men’s ties and the escalators, thankful they didn’t have to brave another “man-made death trap” as they found their way to the evening gown section of the department store.

A few weeks ago, when she received the invitation honoring them and other female entrepreneurs at the Southern California Women’s Business League’s Annual Gala, Grace almost tossed the invitation right in the trash. She and Frankie being honored for Vybrant had to be some kind of joke. Certainly an organization made up of mostly upper-to-middle class, older, white, straight-laced women who were more prudish than she’d ever been had to have made a mistake. They'd done quite a bit of work at winning over that market online, where shoppers could still remain somewhat anonymous. There was still plenty of work to do in person. And yet there it was, right on the mailer, confirmed on their website. They’d even pulled a photo of she and Frankie from the Vybrant media kit, making it clear this was in fact serious. They were receiving some kind of award, and as co-owner of the company, Grace didn’t think she should make the decision to attend or not on her own, even if her best friend and business partner had up and left a few weeks earlier.

Santa Fe was only temporary, Frankie promised. A trial run. A last hurrah, if anything. Grace knew that wasn’t true, not after the pep talk she’d given, not after she’d stupidly restored Frankie’s confidence and made her rethink breaking up with Jacob in the first place. So, the next week, Frankie packed up half her studio and went with him to visit his property there, simple as that.

Except the day she left, Grace could barely make it downstairs to say goodbye. She was nauseous all morning, but played it off like it was a stomach bug she’d picked up from the grandkids. She refused to get Frankie sick before taking the train far away from her doctors, so Grace held her breath dramatically while Frankie threw caution to the wind and wrapped her arms around her anyway. She settled for an air kiss to either side of Grace’s cheek and then hopped into the Lyft with Jacob.

Grace stood in the doorway, watching all her sanity, her safety and stability, the foundation she’d begrudgingly and inevitably built over the past two years get in the car and pull away. But before it could, Jacob looked back one last time from inside the car, made eye contact and slowly mouthed “Thank you.” It took all Grace had not to hurl her coffee mug at him, to stop the cheap Toyota in the driveway by chipping away just a little more at its deteriorating paint job. Instead, she went inside and back up to bed, where she stayed for the good remainder of the day.

That was a little over a month ago. Since then, she’d been determined to let Frankie do her thing, figure out if Santa Fe, and Jacob by extension, really was worth picking up her life and starting over somewhere else. Still, Grace thought it only fair to tell Frankie about the invitation to the gala, not as an excuse to get her to come back. _No, definitely not that_ she told herself. It made sense to present her with all the options. As a business owner. As equals in their mutual success.

She waited until the very last minute to tell her, with only a few days left until the big event, thinking that might make things easier all around. Little did she know Frankie would be so excited, she’d book a flight that very night and be back in town two days later. That gave them just enough time to shop for dresses and make it to the party that evening.

“So, what should I be looking for?” Frankie asked. “What’s the dress code at one of these things anyway?”

“Black tie,” Grace repeated. “That’s why we’re here in the first place.”

“Yes, because you wouldn’t let me take you to Patty’s.”

“Because I don’t feel like showing up to a high society dinner in a mumu made from alpaca fur,” Grace rolled her eyes, running her fingers over the garments calling from their little islands in the center of the showroom.

“Now when have you ever seen me wear alpaca? I mean, outside the house? That I haven't crocheted myself? You can’t find that at Patty’s. We’d have to go somewhere way out in the bowels of Encinitas for…”

“Can we just focus on what we’re here for, please?” Grace clipped, immediately cursing herself for the tone. She’d really resolved to do better. She had to.

“Okay, Ms. Priestly, then tell me what the latest trends are? What would look good on a woman with my hip-to-ass ratio? Got any hot tips?”

“Maybe don’t talk about your ass when we get there tonight,” Grace smirked, pulling out a navy blue number that might just work. “How about this?”

“Ugh, too boring,” Frankie whined.

“This isn’t backstage at a Rolling Stones concert, okay? This is a business affair.”

“I know that. But what do they always say? Business in the front, party in the back. Is that right? Speaking of which, check this out,” Frankie lifted a bright fuchsia gown off the rack, twirling it between them, mesmerized by the attached necklace, a strip of faux diamonds with emeralds dangling from the hanger. She swatted at it with her free hand, making it swing as it hovered over the extremely low neckline, or what Grace soon realized was the back of the dress. “Jesus, this would look great on you.”

“Me?” Grace balked, mouth agape. “I...yeah, maybe if I was forty years younger.”

“Uh uh, don’t even start with that ageist bull. You know you can rock any gown in this place, and this one’s got you written all over it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Grace continued to look for other options. “Since when have you ever known me to wear something that...that…”

“Unconventional? Exciting? Not that often, I must admit, but why let that stop you? The color’s perfect. It even matches our packaging, sorta. Come on, won’t you try it on for me? Pretty please?” Frankie batted her lashes.

“Why? So you can take a photo and put it up on Snapfish or whatever the hell you want to do with it?”

“Snapchat, Grace. Don’t play dumb, you know what it is. And no, I won’t take any pictures. I’ll be a perfect gentlewoman if you just try it on. And I’ll try on whatever you think would look good on me.”

“What is this, an impromptu say yes night?” Grace complained. “Because I didn’t agree to any…”

“No, no, not tonight. There’s too much pressure, I know it. I wouldn’t do that to you. Just trust me on this. This dress will make us stand out from the crowd, not that we need much help with that. But believe me, they’ll notice you. For all the right reasons.”

“And what about you? I’m not worried about me as much as I am about you. I’m not letting you walk into that place in clogs and a peasant skirt.”

“Oh don’t worry, we’ll find me something. But first, this. Come on, the suspense is killing me. If you hate it, we’ll move on to the next one. What do you say?”

Grace looked down at the dress again. It really was stunning, not something she ever would have picked out for herself, but maybe would have stopped to compliment on someone else if she saw it. Then again, there was no telling unless she tried it on. Frankie clearly saw something she didn’t. Far be it for her to cut down her vision so prematurely.

“If I can’t get it up over my hips, don’t even start to drag me over to the dessert table tonight.”

“Honey, there was no way you were gonna eat any of that anyway,” Frankie shook her head. “Let’s go.”

Once they found the dressing room, Grace locked herself inside a stall, thankful Frankie hadn't insisted on coming in with her. She left her purse on the bench out front with the woman who'd talked her into this mess. _Why do I always let her talk me into it?_ Grace groaned, unbuttoning her jeans, sliding them down her long, skinny legs. She turned half way towards the mirror, casting a quick, disapproving glare at her own ass in the mirror, if anything just to confirm it was still there. She slipped the tan, cotton shirt off over her head, followed by her bra, daring to look back once more. What she saw wasn't completely horrible. Except for the sunspots. And the wrinkles. And the lost elasticity in way too many places. But she knew enough to know she looked good in the clothes she so carefully picked out, what shades and shapes accentuated her better features while hiding the rest.

 _Not like this dress_ , she was sure as she stepped into it, bare feet scrunching at the dirty, worn out carpet, shimmying from left to right as she pulled the garment up the length of her body, pushing her arms through the long sleeves. She dipped her head through the necklace and let the bodice drape over her chest, like a paper gown in a doctor’s office. The zipper wasn't closed yet. She tried to reach behind her, but the stretch immediately made her back scream at her for even trying. Her arms fell to her sides, and she sighed deeply as she tried to imagine what it might look like if it fit. Frankie was right about one thing: the color wasn't half bad.

“Yoo hoo,” the knock finally came. “Can I see?”

“Just a minute,” Grace answered, gathering up as much of the loose fabric as she could behind her, holding it in place with her fist below the small of her back. She turned away from the mirror, retreating into a corner where she couldn't see herself from any angle and Frankie would only be able to see the parts she wanted her to see. Something about it felt very familiar, almost like déjà vu.

“Alright,” she leaned forward, pressing down the handle to let her in.

Frankie poked her head inside first, searching the tiny room until her eyes landed on Grace. Her mouth fell open, then shut.

“Oh, Grace,” she shook her head as she stepped inside, closing the door, leaning back against it, blue eyes glimmering with the overhead lights. “Wow.”

“Really?” Grace breathed, clutching the fabric a little tighter, shifting in the corner. “It's not...I don't even have it all the way on.”

“Well let me help you with that.”

“I don't…”

“Oh come on, I've seen you in worse. And less.”

“When?” Grace couldn't help but blush furiously, feeling like she might melt right through the wall if she leaned back hard enough.

“That time I walked in on you in the bathroom, for starters.”

“You mean _my_ bathroom?” Grace scowled. “I threw my robe on right away. You didn't see anything.”

“Okay, Sister Hanson. I'll keep my eyes shut then, if you insist.”

“This is ridiculous,” Grace exhaled, letting go as she stepped forward, ignoring the pangs fluttering through her stomach as she turned around. Frankie had seen her back before, helped her with plenty of zippers on plenty of other dresses. She'd even seen her in a bathing suit once or twice over the years. But there was something about the intimacy of this dressing room, with its close walls and mirrors, the feeling of Frankie’s fingers fumbling for the zipper, slipping over her tired muscles, the soft curve of her aching lower back and up the center of her spine that made her feel like her heart might stop dead right then and there.

“It's a little tricky,” Frankie grunted. “Hold still.”

“When are you going back?” Grace suddenly blurted out.

“Back?” Frankie stopped her ascent. “Back where?”

“ _Mars, Frankie_ ,” Grace simmered. “Santa Fe.”

“Oh,” Frankie’s voice dropped, and she returned her gaze to the dress, still tugging at the infinitesimal fastener. “I don't know yet.”

“What do you mean you don't know?”

“I mean I don't know. Bud and Allison have an important appointment with the OBGYN next week, so I'd like to stick around for that. Why? Is there some reason I need to know when I'm going back? Do you have other house guests coming in that I don't know about?”

They hadn't discussed any of it at the house, or in the car on the way to the mall. Grace had avoided asking. She was much more focused on her arriving, less with leaving.

“No, of course not,” Grace clarified, swallowing. “And you're not a guest. It's your house. It'll always be your house...whenever you need it to be.”

“Okay, good.”

“It’s just with your birthday right around the corner, and then Thanksgiving...I was just thinking of the hassle of going back and forth, that's all.”

“Well, it is what it is,” Frankie sighed. “Okay, turn around. Let me see you.”

Grace closed her eyes as she pivoted, very slowly, afraid she might step on it and tear the damn thing, and she hadn't even bothered to check the price tag yet. Finally, she opened her eyes. Frankie stood there, in her springed clogs and gauchos, set under her favorite gray dress and asymmetrical poncho, hair the perfect, gorgeous mess it always was, looking back at Grace with an expression she'd never seen before. It was subtle, a little lost maybe. Impossible to read.

“What?” Grace swallowed harder.

"Nothing,” Frankie blinked. “Nothing. You look great."

“That's it?” Grace teased nervously, pursing her lips. “Just great, after all that?”

“I mean, you look just how I pictured you,” Frankie licked the inside of her teeth awkwardly, like she did sometimes when she was lying, but not about anything sinister. “Only better.”

“Ah,” Grace’s skin continued to burn as she fidgeted with the sleeves.

“See for yourself,” Frankie urged.

Grace stepped away from the corner, towards the center of the room, and allowed herself to finally face the mirror. She let out a little sound along with her breath. Not quite a gasp. Something more modest, almost appreciative, a modicum of shock for just how not terrible it actually looked.

“It's too much,” she began to make excuses. “I'll look like I'm trying too hard.”

“No you won't,” Frankie assured, stepping close behind her. “You might just show up all the other women trying too hard, but that's fine. They'll get over it. Or not. What do we care?”

“This isn't really what I was looking for,” Grace breathed, turning from side to side, lips curling up ever so slightly at the feeling of the diamond detail swinging gently against her skin.

"Well, sometimes you think you know what you want," Frankie spoke, almost a whisper. “And sometimes...you surprise yourself.”

Grace’s breath caught in her lungs, throat constricting as she felt Frankie’s hand still the swinging necklace against her back, the pads of her fingertips lingering just a little longer, pressing a little deeper than necessary. Very quickly, Frankie slid the zipper back down before pulling away.

“I think you should get it,” she turned around abruptly, grabbing both their purses off the stool, handing Grace her bra without making eye contact.

“Alright,” Grace agreed, though her voice felt like it was coming from somewhere else, detached from her own body, like the PA system in the department store. “But what about you?”

“Go ahead and get changed,” Frankie slinked away, shutting the door between them as she continued to speak. “I'll keep looking. If not, I have something. Don't worry!”

Grace shook her head, staring into the mirror, almost a stranger to herself in this getup. And yet, somehow, she felt a little more certain of who she was than before, like she could really pull this off if she wanted it badly enough.

She looped her head back out of the necklace, smoothing her hands down the dress and over her sides, pushing it off before dipping into the sleeves. She pulled out the price tag, knowing whatever the cost, she was willing to pay it.

* * *

By eight thirty, they were seated at a table in the grand ballroom of the Marriott by the marina. Against her better judgement, Grace had worn the dress, in all its hot pink, bejeweled glory, weathering looks of every kind from the moment she set foot out of the car. Most seemed to approve, surprisingly, and many even told her as much. She'd chosen earrings that went with the dress, emeralds she'd gotten from Robert for their thirtieth anniversary, situated nicely beneath her more conservative updo. Frankie’s hand on her shoulder cut through her remaining nerves, making it feel like it was just the two of them going for dinner rather than several hundred of San Diego’s wealthiest and most accomplished executives joining them.

The event was a fundraiser after all, and Grace stole away to the philanthropy table, whipping out her checkbook, making a significant contribution to help women from marginalized communities fund their startups. It was a cause she could genuinely get behind, and she had no trouble talking up the folks who ran the program. Meanwhile, Frankie seemed to be busy making friends with the guy carving roast beef on the buffet line.

“Is that a Ginsu knife?” Frankie asked. “I told my friend Bing I'd get him a new one to slice through his tofurkey this year. I know it's overkill, but if he’s biting the bullet to go meatless, the least he can do is not chintz on the accouterments. A man takes a lot of pride in his holiday tackle box, or so I've been told.”

“What are you doing?” Grace sidled up next to her, gently tugging her away, pulling a dinner roll from Frankie’s pocket and tossing it back on the platter as she led them to the table.

“What? I'm doing exactly what you told me to do, aren't I? I'm mingling.”

Grace held her tongue as they continued to make the rounds, watching amusedly as Frankie faked her way through small talk with people she had no idea she should try to impress, or at least not piss off. Then again, this was their shindig just as much as anyone else's. They were the honorees, and Frankie had worn a dress that was totally presentable, if not as fancy as Grace would have liked to see. It was black, simple, topped off with so many gemstones Grace wasn't sure there was anything left back in the mines of New Mexico, but it did look great. _Frankie_ looked great. Glowing even, like all this time away had done her some good after all, like she was healthier, happier than she'd been in months. Grace couldn't argue with that. And it absolutely killed her.

“What is this? Lettuce?” Frankie whispered back at the table, picking at her plate as they sat listening to the presenters talk about the League’s mission. “It tastes like baby wipes.”

“I don't even want to know how you know that,” Grace hushed. “Anyway, stop eating and pay attention. It's rude.”

“No it isn't. Don't you think they expect us to finish the free meal they've gifted us? Wouldn't _that_ be more rude, hint hint…”

“Shhh!” Grace scolded, pinching Frankie’s elbow, not too hard, but enough to make her drop her fork and start clapping along with the rest of the audience.

“Fine. I'm listening.”

“Thank you,” Grace sighed, tugging a little at her collar. It was so damn hot in there, and this thing was tight. “I have a feeling we're gonna be called up there any minute.”

“Oh shit, really?” Frankie’s eyes went wide as she chewed. “I didn't know that. Fuck, I would have written something.”

“That's okay. We’ll keep it brief. You just stand there next to me and smile.”

“What do you mean? What if I want to say something?”

“Frankie…”

“I didn't come all the way from Santa Fe just to hold your purse and stay silent, like some kind of arm candy, did I? I want to speak too.”

Grace looked at her sharply then, a wave of nausea and fevered anxiety, like the one that hit her the morning Frankie left, creeping up inside, rising like bile, scalding her cheeks. Yet another reason she was glad she’d stopped drinking after one martini.

“Is that what this is?” she snapped, voice a little more than a whisper. “Is that why you came all the way back then? So you could make a speech here? In front of a bunch of people you couldn’t give two shits about?”

“Not just that. But a little that, yes. I could have done my best Joan Collins impersonation, but I'm a little rusty. I would have practiced had I known.”

“Fine then,” Grace clipped, tossing her napkin on the table. “Go ahead. Say whatever you want to say.”

“I don't know what to say,” Frankie argued. “I just want you to recognize my right to say it.”

“ _God_ , Frankie, you…” Grace was thrown by her own anger, knowing she was overreacting, that it was much more complicated than that. It wasn't just frustration she felt, or any single emotion, something she could pinpoint and shut down within herself, moving on like nothing had happened. Somehow subconsciously, she'd been looking for a reason to be upset, waiting for something, anything to throw the whole night off, so she could be less thrilled that Frankie was there with her, less desperate for it not to end.

“Our next honorees need little introduction,” the woman on stage in the pristine Prada suit spoke wryly. “And I'm not sure I could give them much of one without embarrassing myself, but needless to say, they've taken not just the city, but the entire country by storm with their products for older women. Given their company’s stellar showing in the first quarter, I’m sure they've only just begun. Ladies and gentleman, from Vybrant, it's my pleasure to present the award for Fastest Growing Company of 2017 to none other than Grace Hanson and Frankie Bergstein.”

Grace didn't even want to leave the table. All she wanted was to go home, make herself another stiff drink and crawl under the covers, wait until Frankie was gone, forget how good just a few hours by her side could make her feel. But before she knew it, they were moving towards the stage. She felt herself being carried there by her feet, felt all eyes turning towards them, glowering with praise and judgement. _Good lord, why did I wear this dress_? she thought for the hundredth time as she smiled through clenched teeth, accepting the small glass oval statue, shaking the woman’s hand as she turned to face the microphone.

“Thank you,” Grace started out shakily. “To the Southern California Women’s Business Guild...League...for this incredible honor. I...well, we...we know sexuality can be a hard topic for many of us, especially those of a certain age. Myself included, in fact. But I...we...well, it's been a journey, and…”

For the first time in her life, Grace knew she was wilting under pressure, losing her train of thought in front of a crowd she should have had no trouble commanding. But it wasn't pressure, that wasn't the right word for it. It was more like a surge of truth bubbling to the surface at the worst possible moment, in the way people always say it will if you hold it back for too long. She felt herself start to sweat beneath the heat of the lights, the tightness of her gown. It was almost dizzying, and she took a half a step back from the mic, gripping the award in her hands like it would somehow keep her from falling.

“What I think my partner is trying to say,” Frankie swooped in, wrapping her arm around Grace’s tiny waist, holding her up just as much as she needed. “Is that it's really an honor to be able to bring such an important subject to the spotlight, to help women with something they may not be ready to talk about as comfortably as we are yet, but that's alright. That's why we're here, to at least start the conversation. And judging by the response we've seen so far, I’d say we're doing okay. But none of that would be possible without this lady right here. Her commitment, her expertise. I'm just so thankful she’s allowed me to come along for the ride. So thank you, again, for this, and thank you to my best friend. The only reason I’m here tonight is you. And doesn't she look beautiful?”

Grace could barely breath, her skin flushed brighter than the color of her dress as she heard the applause through muted ears. She stole a quick glance at Frankie, who nodded, taking the cue to wrap up.

“Well, that’s all from me,” Frankie concluded. “Thank you again, and oh yeah, go Padres, am I right? Frankie, out.”

Another round of applause swept them up, a bit less enthusiastic, but still plentiful, following them all the way back to their seats. Grace made it through another five minutes or so of speeches before scooping her clutch off the table and rapidly heading for the exit, making it her sole purpose not to lock eyes with anyone, knowing Frankie was following only by the sound of her clogs squeaking against the wooden floor. They silently waited for the valet to bring the car around, and as soon as they got in, Grace began the torturous drive back to their side of town.

“I'm sorry,” Frankie finally spoke, fingers gripping the center console. “I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“You didn't,” Grace shook her head furtively, swallowing up the dryness in her throat, wishing she could say more, wishing she knew what the hell she wanted to say.

“Well...at least we’ve got this thing to put on the mantle in the living room,” Frankie pulled the award from her over-sized purse. Grace was glad she'd swiped it. She definitely would have forgotten it back on the table. “It can go next to Coyote’s incense burner I guess. It is sort of vulva-shaped, though I'm guessing that wasn't on purpose.”

Grace didn't answer. She was just trying to focus on driving, which was harder than it should have been after the one martini she'd hoofed down. But she didn't feel sober. She felt drunk on shame, adrenaline, and a little bit of pride at Frankie’s words, a smidge of gratitude mixed in somewhere with her indignation and fatalism, and something that felt much too akin to longing, which didn't make any sense.

Except that of course it did.

* * *

Frankie wordlessly went back to her studio while Grace retreated to the kitchen, throwing open the freezer, staring at the bottle of Grey Goose before slamming it shut. _No_ , she pleaded with herself. _That’ll only make everything worse_. She spun around in that God-forsaken dress, leaning back against the fridge, feeling like her clothes were now constricting her air supply. She reached behind her, feeling for the zipper, knowing already she wasn’t going to be able to get it down on her own, but if there was any hope, she figured she should start now.

It quickly became clear it was impossible, with her fingernails and muscles spasming at the attempt, betraying her dire need for independence. _Just this once_ , she prayed. _Please, God. Why now?_

She flung open the drawer by the sink next, digging through the mess until she found a serving fork long enough, something that might be able to latch on to the idiotically small piece of metal. _Useless_. She dropped it on the counter futilely, trying instead to lift the necklace over her head first, feeling like she was choking, like maybe this was the way she'd die. Hung up by her own dress, by the silliest of metaphors, and most of all, her willingness to give in to Frankie’s every whim.

Resigned, she took three steps towards the stairs, teetering painfully on her heels, ready to cut the fucking thing off with scissors if she had to.

“Do you want me to help you take that off?” she heard before she could disappear.

Grace bit her lip so hard she almost tasted blood, taking a deep breath through her nose, struggling to maintain the tone she'd practiced so hard as she turned around and felt herself begin to come undone.

“I don't want your help,” she seethed, eyes narrowing. “I shouldn't need your…”

“But you do,” Frankie stepped forward defiantly, shocking Grace a little with her boldness. “So why don't you stop being so fucking stubborn. So we can both get some sleep.”

Grace scoffed audibly at that, trying to come up with the perfect comeback, trying to maintain her resolve as her shoulders slowly drooped. She pushed off her heels, bringing her down at least three inches before hobbling pathetically across the dining room floor, back towards the kitchen counter. She leaned against it with both hands, turning her back to Frankie indignantly, signaling she was willing take the offer, but not willing to say the words.

“I should be so mad at you,” Grace huffed. “For making me wear this _stupid_ dress. For making me go to that _stupid_ place. For leav...leaving me alone to run this business while you're off finding yourself with someone...someplace else…coming back just to accept the accolades without putting in any of the work.”

“I'm only half listening to what you're saying, because the other half’s bullshit,” Frankie yanked on the zipper, much harder than she had earlier that day, and it still wouldn't budge. Grace’s hips jerked backwards, right into Frankie’s thighs. The feeling made her eyes blur, heart pounding in her ears as her stomach twisted in knots that weren't unpleasant. “You don't mean most of it anyway. You're not really angry, you're just…”

“What?” Grace spun around, leaving about an inch between them as she continued to dig her nails into the counter. “How dare you tell me I'm not angry. Of course I'm angry. Why do you think I haven't called as much since you've been gone? Why do you think…”

“Who says I'm gone?” Frankie interrupted. “Who says I won't come back whenever I want, just like I did? I told you it was only temporary.”

“Yeah, and you've been gone six weeks, three days, and a handful of hours.”

“Not that you're counting or anything.”

“Don't you fuck with me,” Grace’s eyes grew wild, voice deeper. “Don't you dare play games with me like this. I can't take it. Just tell me when you're leaving again so I can be ready.”

“Are you saying you weren't ready before? Because you seemed like you were. You're the one who told me I should go, in fact.”

“You know I didn't mean it,” Grace couldn't believe she was letting herself come clean. “I would have given anything for you to stay where your doctors are, where we...we could keep working, maintain some semblance of normalcy, but I know that wasn't going to make you happy.”

“How?” Frankie asked, gentler than she should have been, Grace thought, considering what a colossal bitch she was being right now. “How could you have known what was going to make me happy when I didn't even know myself? Or maybe I just didn't want to know. I'm not sure. I don't have it all figured out either.”

“This isn't the time to start psychoanalzying either of us, okay? I'm upset, clearly, I...I’ve missed you. Way too much. And I'm sorry it's coming out like anger, but I'm not good at this. You know I'm not, but I've tried to be okay, and I failed, and it's making me sick. Making me do stupid things like wear this dress and lose my mind up there in front of all those people. I don't know what's wrong with me, honestly. But I do know I'm gonna be angry all over again when you leave in a few days and I'm left here with all this…”

“I'm not leaving,” Frankie said quietly. Too quietly for Grace not to be sure it hadn't been in her own head.

“You're…” she couldn't have heard that right. “What?”

“I said I'm not leaving,” Frankie swallowed, folding her hands in front of her black dress, looking down at herself. “I’m not going back.”

“You're...why?”

“Because I made a mistake,” Frankie’s eyes watered. “And I'm sorry. I told Jacob I wanted to come back for the awards thing tonight, and he wanted to come with me and I said no, this was our thing, you and me. And we fought about it. And I told him I'd made a mistake, that I needed to come back. So I did.”

Grace definitely felt like the room was spinning now, like she'd fallen asleep somewhere between the kitchen and her bedroom, or maybe slipped again, hit her head on the edge of the island, launching her into a cruel dream she was bound to wake up from any second.

“That's…” Grace struggled for any sort of eloquence. “I mean...what about all your stuff?”

“It'll find its way back to me. It's just stuff. I'm here now. I'm where I need to be. That's all that matters.”

Grace could practically feel her heart beating against the scratchy fabric of her dress, reflected in the clearness of Frankie’s eyes, ringing, echoing in the shrinking space between them.

“I'm so sorry,” Frankie repeated, like once wasn't more than enough. “I made a mistake. I never should have left. I should have been honest, should have pushed harder for you to be honest with me, especially when you told me you would miss me. I knew there was...something else, something we both needed time to come face-to-face with, but I...I was too scared. Scared to leave, but scared about what it might mean if I stayed.”

“Stay,” Grace broke suddenly, practically begging through her tears. “Please stay.”

Frankie looked back up at her then, lips parting, wet with guilt and anticipation and too much left unsaid until now. Her eyes smiled, lines crinkling in all the familiar pathways that made Grace know she was home.

“That's all I ever needed to hear.”

“I need you,” Grace doubled down, stepping forward, taking her hand. “I really do need you.”

"You do?” Frankie dared, moving just a hair closer, and the kitchen was so quiet. It was like the entire world outside had ceased to exist. “How...how come you've never needed me like this before?"  
  
"I have,” Grace trembled, falling through layers of doubt, far too many to make sense of in this moment.  
  
"I have too,” Frankie whispered.

“Are we…” Grace reached out, taking the biggest risk of her life, touching Frankie’s shoulder, then her necklace. “Are we talking about the same thing, or...”

“I think so,” Frankie sucked in a deep breath, slowly letting it out again. “Although...I can never really be sure. I've never been very good at subtext. I just...I mean, maybe if you spelled it out for me, I could…”

Grace leaned in, kissing her so softly, holding onto her necklace, the other hand lacing their fingers together, letting her lips brush over Frankie’s warm, full, half open mouth like it was the last prayer she'd ever make if it wasn't answered. She pulled back a second later, certain she'd made a mistake, that they weren't talking about the same thing, that they never had been, that Frankie would run back to Jacob and everything would be forever fucked and lost.

“Grace…”

“Oh god,” she gasped. “Fuck. Was I wrong? Fuck, I'm so sorry, I…”

“No. No, you…”

Frankie pulled her closer, kissing her back, like she was making up for lost time, for ever making Grace doubt where she belonged. Her hands were all over, climbing her back, cupping her face, making Grace feel like this had to be a dream. There was no way this was happening, no way it could be this easy, feel this, this...

“Oh my god,” she sniffed through kisses, shivering as her hands came up to Frankie’s cheeks, stroking smooth, ivory skin, brushing Frankie’s hair behind her ear.

"God is right," Frankie gulped, leaning their foreheads together, holding Grace a little tighter by the waist. “I wasn't expecting…”

“Me either,” Grace shook her head. “Not...not now. Maybe not…I mean, are you okay with this? You just…”

“I'm more than okay with this,” Frankie nodded, running her hands up over the bare skin of Grace’s back, pressing in like she had earlier that day in the dressing room. “I'm so okay with this.”

Grace buried her hands in Frankie’s hair, and she kissed her harder, harder than she ever thought she'd kiss another person ever again in her life. Her mind went blank for a moment before overloading with all the questions and answers she’d been dodging for months, finally coming to light in the feather-soft touch of Frankie’s lips on hers, the feeling of Frankie’s hands everywhere, so close, so much better than she could have imagined.

“Are you sure?” Grace swallowed, arms wrapping carefully around Frankie’s neck. “Because I don’t...if this isn't what you…I mean, we don't...”

“Honey, I don't know,” Frankie admitted, letting her fingertips ghost across the space between Grace’s shoulder blades, fingering the crystals there, the skin already so sensitive, sending shock waves up Grace’s spine. “All I know is...I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Way too long.”

“Me too,” Grace breathed. “And I...I don’t think I want it to stop.”

“Me either,” Frankie pulled one of Grace’s hands to her chest, then up to her mouth, kissing each knuckle, making Grace’s knees buckle beneath her. “But I think...I mean, I know we should take it slow. Talk about...what this is. What it all means. How we got here, because that's bound to be a very interesting conversation, for both of us, but it's just...it's just...it's so fucking hard with you in that dress.”

“Tell me about it,” Grace laughed. “I feel like I'm wearing a very expensive straight jacket.”

“You are so gorgeous,” Frankie shook her head, tracing the shape of Grace’s chin. “And so brave. I'm so proud of you. So proud to have stood there with you in front of that blasé, vanilla-ass crowd.”

“You mean the people I made a total fool of myself in front of?” Grace sniffed again, trying not to hiccup as the onslaught of emotion surged through her veins, letting Frankie hold her up in their kitchen. In their house.

“You couldn't have made a fool of yourself if you tried. Not looking like that. Not a chance.”

“Gosh,” Grace blushed, actively fighting the urge to freak out over the fact that she'd just kissed her best friend, kissed _Frankie_ , while simultaneously holding back from moving faster than they were ready for. “Why are you always saying things like that? Why are you so good to me?”

“I haven't been,” Frankie brought both of Grace’s hands to her chest, to her sternum, pressing them there so intently. “Not really. But I will be. You've taken such good care of me, Grace, and I...I want to take care of you, too. I want to be here, for all of it. Everything.”

“Like helping me out of this dress?” Grace smirked, like it was a joke rather than an offering.

“Yes, like that,” Frankie kissed her forehead. “And so much more than that.”

“What are we doing?” Grace played with Frankie’s collar, fingernails treading her clavicles before easing back, staying on the much safer edge of the velvet hem. “Are we crazy? Is this...what is everyone going to think if we...”

“None of that matters,” Frankie assured. “Not yet. All that matters is that you kissed me. You did it, finally. I can't believe you did, but it was great. Oh so great, Grace. You're a fantastic kisser. I knew you would be.”

“Thank you,” Grace smiled broadly. “You're not bad yourself.”

“So good,” Frankie swallowed, bringing her hand to Grace’s cheek, the other one swept around her, still fidgeting with the diamonds. “I think I'd like to try it again, if that's okay with you. It might be the fastest way to figuring some of this out.”

“You think so?” Grace fell forward, nuzzling Frankie’s nose with her own.

“I do. And if I'm wrong, fuck it. I don't want to be right. Just kiss me. Please…”

And Grace did just that, lifting up on her toes, letting Frankie hold on oh so firmly as they kissed and swayed against the kitchen counter, Frankie’s hand making its way down to where skin met fabric. Grace gripped at Frankie’s sides, practically hyperventilating as she ran her hands all over her cinched waist, back up along the outline of her breasts, just barely grazing them. Frankie’s breath hitched at that, and she pushed them back against the island, hands falling to Grace’s ass, squeezing the globes hungrily before either of them could think better of it.

“Ohgod…” Grace panted, tongue slipping furiously against Frankie’s, tasting her sweet, almost floral breath, then her ear, her neck, taking all she could as fast as she could, Frankie’s body shaking as her hands hesitated over the zipper.

“Should I?” Frankie asked, so totally unsure, trembling like Grace had never seen. “I shouldn't. Should I?”

“ _Please_ ,” Grace groaned. “Or...no, not yet.”

“When?”

“I don't want you to see me like this,” Grace swallowed, all her self consciousness rising back to the surface. “I mean, I do. I mean, I don't know what I...”

“It's okay. Talk to me. What is your body saying? Mine’s telling me things I can't even believe. Usually it would be saying ‘Halt. Take a minute. Take two. Don't rush into this.’ But it can't, not now. It's that damn dress, I think. It must be possessed by some kind of fashion deity, and you know that shit’s not free trade…”

“Frankie…”

“It's okay,” she told both of them, slowing down, taking Grace’s face in her hands again. “We don't have to. Not yet.”

“But I _want_ to...God do I want…”

She brought Frankie’s hands back to her breasts, letting her cup them through the cursed frock, and Frankie just about lost it. She kissed her again, Grace letting her teeth in on the action this time, nipping at Frankie’s plump lower lip while Frankie kneaded and searched, Grace’s nipples hardening under her palms.

“Oh my fuck,” Frankie shook, backing away. “I can't. I can't do this right now.”

“Really?” Grace felt everything crashing to the ground. She'd been waiting for the bottom to fall out. “I mean, you don't want…”

“I do want, but I can't. Not just yet. I will. Soon. I mean, I'll do whatever you want me to. I just need time, I think. But you're so...and you feel so…so I just…”

“It's alright,” Grace straightened out the dress, smoothing away its wrinkles, fixing the pins in her hair. “We can just...we can talk. Right? We should be capable of that.”

“Yes, talk,” Frankie bit her lip, licking her teeth, retreating to the opposite counter. “That's it. That's the ticket.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” Frankie rushed in again, and this time Grace caught her with her mouth as much as her arms, tongue and teeth and hands engulfing as much as she possibly could, allowing Frankie’s hips to come into pure contact with her own, so much heat already generating between them. Grace couldn't help but let her thighs slide apart, as far as the tight fucking dress would let her, waiting to see how Frankie would react. She almost blacked out, losing her grip on the counter when Frankie took advantage of the opening and pressed her leg forward, barely half an inch.

“Frankie…”

“Yes…” Frankie managed.

“I need...off…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She turned around swiftly, showing Frankie her back again, leaning over, making it very clear what she needed. Frankie’s hands shakily went to the zipper, for maybe the tenth time that day, and this time, she tugged until it slid all the way down, exposing Grace’s lower back, the dimples there just above her practically invisible panty line.

“Fuck me,” Frankie swallowed. “Grace…”

“Yeah?” Grace’s voice came out so much higher than she meant for it to, so breathy, so needy, it was almost painful.

“What do you want from me?”

“You mean…” she stayed bent over, out of breath and afraid to turn around again, for fear of losing the moment, for fear of the regret or uncertainty she might find in Frankie’s eyes. “What do you mean? You mean right now?”

“I mean now. I mean next week, and the next. Next year, and all the years to come. I can't stop this freight train of sapphic impulses. Clearly neither of us can, which is less shocking for me than it should be, but I think we both knew this thing was inevitable. But I can't do it...I won't do it if it doesn't mean more to you than this, right now. If that's all it is, just sex, I can't do it. It's too risky, and I won't risk losing you. Not again. Not ever.”

Grace folded against the island, wishing to god for a moment that Frankie wasn't such a good person, but only for a moment, because the truth was Frankie was the best person she'd ever known, and if she needed reassurance, even if Grace didn't understand every nuance of what was happening between them, even if she'd been trying to hide from it, hide from herself for what felt like forever, she could at least give her something.

“You don't have to worry,” she spoke softly, turning around, the light from the patio out back hitting her dress at just the right angle, making her light up like a firework. “I've wanted this too, for a very long time. Too long to even admit right now, because it’s way too embarrassing, but I will. I'll tell you everything you want to know, but most of all...I'll tell you that I love you. That I love you so much, Frankie, and that's all I need. For you to be here with me. For you to look at me like you are right now, like you have all night, for as long as you’ll have me. For...for you to just love me, like...”

“I do,” Frankie nodded, wiping at her eyes, chasing the thick tears down her cheeks. “I love you so fucking much. And I'm so sorry.”

“I'm sorry too.”

“No, really. I should have told you sooner.”

“Stop that,” Grace insisted, taking her hands again, swinging them a little. “Just love me, please. Love me…and we’ll deal with the rest later. Now that you're here,” she crumbled, choking back a sob. “You're here.”

Frankie dove back in, clutching Grace’s face, kissing her wildly, with so much softness and fierceness all wrapped up in one Grace wasn't sure how much longer she could stay standing. Frankie’s hands were in her hair again, slipping through golden strands coming loose by the second, and Grace made quick work of Frankie’s necklace, lifting it’s heft over her head and tossing it on the counter behind them so she could get that much closer. Frankie’s tongue was nimble against her own, so warm and slick, and her lips tasted like every memory they'd shared, every time she'd stolen a glimpse at her and wondered. Grace sucked her in, tugging on her hips until they were moving together into the living room, Grace watching carefully over Frankie’s shoulder, steering them so they wouldn't go ass over tea kettle.

“Is this couch okay?” Frankie came up for air for just a second. “The other has more pillows.”

“This one’s closer,” Grace bargained, shutting her up as they collapsed against the light blue sofa with its extra wide cushions, letting Frankie climb on top and press her down until her head was perched on the arm rest. Everything started to speed up, like someone had hit the fast forward button, both of them scrambling for every slip of skin they could touch and taste and smell, breathing each other in like it was the only thing keeping them alive. Frankie tried peeling back the sides of Grace’s dress, both of them shifting, trying to get comfortable without losing contact.

“I'm fumbling too much,” Frankie apologized. “I don't...I'm not sure what I…”

“No you're not,” Grace said breathlessly. “You're so sweet, and you feel so good. And the way you kiss, the way you…”

“I'm afraid of not doing this right,” Frankie shook her head helplessly. “What if I'm too much, or not enough…”

“No. Listen to me,” Grace swallowed, lipstick smeared to high heavens, cradling Frankie’s cheekbones so tenderly in her hands. “You wanna know what my big secret is? What I've been hiding, what's been killing me every day you've been gone, and way before that...is that I find you wildly, _wickedly_ attractive. God I wish I had your knack for poetry, because the ways I wish I could make you see and feel how crazy beautiful you are to me, how much just the thought of you turns me on, I...”

“You're doing one hell of a job, let me tell you.”

“Thank you,” Grace swallowed. “Now please, touch me…”

“Okay,” Frankie promised. “Should I...you want me to take this thing off still, or…” she began to tug at the pink sleeves.

“No, not that...this…”

Grace bent her knees, hiking the dress up above them, still in shock at her own insistence, the way her walls were smashed to pieces beneath her own desire and Frankie’s willingness to keep going. Frankie settled between Grace’s legs, looking like she had always belonged there, but also terrified, like the slightest miscalculation might ruin everything they’d barely started. Grace grabbed her hand, pulling it to her own chest, letting her feel her sternum, her heart.

“We don't have to do this,” Grace shook, knowing that's not what she wanted, but ready to do whatever Frankie needed, whatever would keep her right where she was. “There’s no reason we can't…”

“I want to,” Frankie insisted. “If you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Really?” Frankie let her free hand slip across Grace’s knee, tickling there like butterflies, pacing along the hem of her dress. “You want me? You're sure?”

“I do,” Grace nodded emphatically. “So badly. I really do.”

“And you're not gonna run if I…”

“I swear to god...please just fuck me.”

“Fuck. Okay.”

“I love you,” Grace grabbed her cheeks, kissing her hard, making her feel it. Making her know it.

“I love you, too,” Frankie kissed back, letting her hand fall between Grace’s thighs, squeezing where she needed it most. And Grace suddenly knew why it didn't bother her that Robert never wanted to have sex except once a year, if that. And why it was so easy to give up Guy. And why Phil had never truly felt like more than a fling. Because none of it had ever been as real as this, as real or as risky. None of it had ever made her feel like she could breathe under water, like she'd figured out how to fly, how to achieve the impossible. Nothing made her as wet or ready as the feeling of Frankie’s fingers under her dress, filling her up from head to toe, and she wasn't even inside her yet.

“Oh my…” Grace’s eyelids fluttered shut, arms wrapping around Frankie’s back as she lost herself in the feeling, Frankie pressing and kneading, tracing with just two fingers up and down along the silken strip. Grace hadn't realized how little it would take to make her feel like this. It usually took so much more, so much effort from every man she'd ever been with, and most of the time not even that was enough. But this, this gentle stroking, was almost more than she could handle. “Christ…”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, please…” Grace arched. “More…”

Frankie obeyed, scraping at Grace’s underwear, rubbing right through them, and Grace thrusted hard against her hand, bare feet digging at the plush, sea foam cushions, fingers permanently lost to the wilds of Frankie’s hair, kissing and licking, keeping her eyes shut until she felt Frankie’s thumb brush against her lip, holding her cheek. She opened her eyes, and Frankie stared back, all devotion, all wishes fulfilled, tears stinging as she shifted her fingers to the top of Grace’s underwear, and then down inside, letting just one digit dip between extra soft lips. She continued to press and rub very gently, just enough to make Grace’s hips buck, the sleeves of her gown slide up as her hands locked around Frankie’s back, necklace jangling, chest rising, throat stretching up towards the ceiling.

“Fuck, Frankie...oh my...oh my…”

Frankie squeezed again, and Grace shook straight through to her core, letting out a sigh of relief as she came. All went black and silent as Frankie slowed her movements, kissing Grace’s ear, whispering something Grace wasn't even sure was English, before pulling away, giving her space to recover.

“Was that alright?” Frankie whispered. “Do you need...what can I…”

“Nothing,” Grace smiled lazily, slowly sitting up, taking Frankie’s hand, letting it fall into her lap as she curled against her. “And yes. Better than that. It was perfect. So perfect.”

“I think Marvin Gaye may have been right,” Frankie swallowed, bringing Grace’s hand to her lips, then her chest. “That was healing. Did you feel it? Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Grace laughed softly, smoothing her hands over Frankie’s arms, back up to her shoulders. “Are you happy?”

“Shit yes I'm happy,” Frankie breathed, closing her eyes, kissing the top of Grace's head. “Because I know this is just the beginning. Now that we got your eager little rocks off, we can start moving on to the bigger things. Bigger questions, I mean. Not that this wasn't…it was everything, truly, I…”

Grace continued to laugh, shaking her head as she nestled into Frankie’s arms.

“I want you to tell me everything,” Frankie continued. “I mean it. Even the things you think I already know, tell me again. From the beginning. From someone else's point of view if that helps. Your mother's. Or mine, if that isn't too creepy."

“Frankie…”  
  
"No, really. I need to take my time learning you, all of you, the way I was always meant to. I know enough to know I don't know anything yet. I mean, I know some things. Like how you like your socks folded, and what turns you on, and how much you hate The Blacklist."  
  
"That's it?” Grace teased. “That's all you know after two years of..."  
  
"No, I know more than that. I know a whole lot in fact, like how gigantic your heart is. Not in the unhealthy, ticking time bomb kind of way. It’s very healthy. Like how strong you are, and how strong you think you aren't, but you are. I know a whole lot about you, Grace Hanson, but I want more. I want it all, but this was a very good way to start."

“I'm ready to give you all of that,” Grace agreed tearfully, trailing her fingers across Frankie’s chest. “But also, I want...if you’re…”

“We have all night for that,” Frankie wriggled her eyebrows, holding her closer. “And tomorrow. And the day after,” she laughed, kissing Grace’s forehead, suddenly in no rush at all.

“Frankie?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for picking out this dress,” Grace smiled, nuzzling her ear. “I think I like it. A lot.”

They both laughed hard at that, and Grace kissed her once again, not caring whether she got out of the gown in ten minutes or slept in the damn thing for the rest of her life.

Because Frankie was back. She was home, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
